Chapter 40 #2
Elizabeth broke off mid-sentence, hand to chest, speaking with mock affront.
“Are you attending to me, sir?” Her tease drew a smile he could not suppress as she plucked a morsel of pastry from her plate and tossed it at him.
He bent aside just in time to let it miss, sailing just past his head.
She giggled, and he gave her a playful scowl.
He rose to his knees, amusement glinting in his eyes as he advanced towards her.
Still laughing, she sprang to her feet and darted away just as he reached to catch her. With a light step, she cast a look of challenge over her shoulder. “You shall never have your revenge!”
Darcy gained his feet, his smile now revealing his dimples as Elizabeth’s laughter echoed through the glen.
The golden light of afternoon fell in soft shafts through the trees, setting a warm glow over the landscape.
He gave a merry chase, his long stride closing the distance between them with ease.
Elizabeth, nimble and quick, kept a step ahead of him; her skirts swirled as she leapt over a fallen branch. “Too slow, Mr Darcy!” she called, mischief alive in her eyes.
Reaching the brook, she turned to face him, breath coming quick and uneven, indecision playing on her countenance as she assessed the narrow stream. When he stopped a few paces away, she stooped suddenly and sent a spray of water in his direction.
The cool drops struck his face and coat, and he drew a sharp breath at the chill and unexpected assault. “Elizabeth!” His air took on mock gravity as he shook his sleeves. “That was a rash declaration of war, you minx.”
She only laughed and flung another handful; the droplets caught the sun like tiny jewels. When he lunged forward, she skipped back with a small yelp, her boots splashing into the shallows.
“Surely a gentleman would not retaliate against a lady!” she cried, half laughing, half breathless.
“A gentleman, perhaps,” he countered, “but you have made me into something far less noble.”
Her laughter pealed out once more—but it was cut short when he leapt forward. She darted to the side and fled, skirts lifted, racing up the glen, whilst he pursued at an easy pace, allowing her to think herself safe. Their mingled laughter drifted through the trees like music on the breeze.
Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he caught her hand and drew her to a halt, whirling her to face him. An arm went round her waist as she stumbled against him, breathless and flushed.
For a moment, they stood close, the world narrowing to the space between them. Her hands rested lightly on his chest, and he felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her touch. Their eyes met—hers bright with wonder, his dark with longing.
Elizabeth’s smile softened, her breath warm against his cheek. Darcy lifted a hand and brushed back a damp curl that clung to her temple; his fingers brushing her skin and lingering as though reluctant to leave. He could resist no longer. He bent nearer, hesitating, his breath mingling with hers.
Their lips met in a kiss as gentle as the air that stirred the leaves—tender, and full of promise rather than claim. It was soft and warm, and achingly sweet—the meeting of two hearts long withheld, simple and utterly right.
When they parted, she gazed up at him, eyes shining with mirth and affection. “For a man who was so determined upon revenge, you appear remarkably satisfied with the present outcome.”
Darcy let out a low chuckle, his brow resting against hers. “’Tis a victory I shall never repent. Do you know how long I have wished to kiss you?”
She raised a hand to his cheek. “I cannot guess, though I suspect it has been for some time. I am sorry it took longer for me to wish the same—but now I cannot conceive of life without you. You, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, are the very man I would have chosen first, had I been given the choice. I cannot wholly regret the path that led me here, for it changed many lives for the better. Likewise, I must rejoice that we have been granted this chance at happiness. You are everything to me, Fitzwilliam, and I love you dearly.”
He kissed her once more, tasting both joy and wonder. “I have not asked you properly—not as I ought,” he murmured when they drew apart. His brow still touched hers. “May I?”
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw. A radiant smile graced her lips as she whispered, her voice scarcely heard above the breeze. “Yes. Yes, you may.”
Darcy’s breath came unsteadily; his heart burst with triumph.
At last. Taking her hands, he lifted them to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss on her fingers before sinking to one knee before her.
He gazed up at the woman who had mastered his heart in every possible way—who had made him better, who had made him whole.
“Elizabeth,” he began, his voice low but steady, rich with all the feeling he could not disguise, “from the moment we renewed our acquaintance in Hertfordshire, I was undone. Even before that time, I had dreamt of finding a lady such as you. None amongst the fashionable world—no pearl of the ton—could compare to your wit, your grace, your integrity. Knowing you transformed me. There is no other woman in this world who could match me so well, none who could set my soul aflame with but a look, a word, or your delightful laugh.”
He watched as tears shone in her eyes, though her smile never wavered.
“I love you, my beautiful Elizabeth, more than I ever believed the heart capable of feeling. You are my joy, my comfort, my truest and dearest friend. Marry me, and I shall spend my life proving that no man ever cherished his wife more deeply, nor honoured and respected her more faithfully. I shall be father to sweet Elinor and to more children who will bless our lives. Say that you will—end my agony at last—and consent to be my partner, my love, and the first lady of my heart.”
He saw the tears she had held back slip free and trace a path down her cheeks. Reaching for him, she clasped his hands tightly in her own. “There is nothing in this world I desire more,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, a thousand times, yes.”
Relief and elation filled him, and he swept her into his arms, capturing her lips.
As he kissed her, the gentle breeze moved softly through the trees, and the brook murmured its unending song.
In that secluded glen, with the woman he loved in his embrace, Darcy knew perfect contentment.
That she, who once swore she would never again lose her freedom to marriage, should now accept his hand seemed a happiness too great to be believed.